Peter was getting tired of trying to figure out Norman Osborn. The man was insane, he could tell that much, and he was a killer that hid his identity in the Green Goblin. But no one but him knew that, and no one could separate Norman from the Green Goblin.
The Green Goblin was a killer. He had taken several innocent lives during an attempt to kill Spider-Man. The weight of those lost sat heavy on Peter's shoulders. It was his job to protect those people. He had no choice but to expose Osborn for the sick man he was.
Peter was currently swinging across Queens, the night relatively quiet. He was grateful for the absence of crime. It meant he could finally see you, no matter how brief that time would be before he launched himself into work once again.
He landed at your window and knocked three slow times. It was his knock, the sound he'd use to let you know that he was there.
(Not like anyone else was capable of climbing up six stories and knocking on your window).
He smiled beneath the mask as he saw your curtains part and your hands fumble with the lock quickly. Once it unlatched, he lifted the glass and ducked his head in, his left foot stepping inside.
"Hey," he said, holding onto the ledge as he moved his right foot in.
"Hi," you greeted, smiling softly. "How was it tonight?"
"Not too busy," he said, sliding the window shut. "Thank goodness. I really missed you."
"Yeah?" you asked, eyes soft and full of love. You opened your arms and he wasted no time to rip his mask off his face, toss it on your floor, and throw his arms around you.
He lifted your feet off the ground, burying his face in your neck and inhaling deeply. You pressed yourself against him, humming happily as he pressed a soft kiss to your hair, still damp from your recent shower.
This, he thought, is what I needed.
You were his constant reminder of why he did what he did. The reason he endured bruises and broken bones and tried not to complain that he had to limp home instead of the hospital.
He pulled back, his eyes melting as he looked at you. You stood back on the ground, just smiling up at him like he was the entire world to you. Which he thought was ridiculous (but also loved).
"Are you gonna stay for a while?" you asked.
He shrugged. "If you want me to," he said. "There's no where else I'd rather be."
You dropped your hands from his shoulders, smiling to yourself. "I'll go make some snacks and we can watch a movie if you want." You pointed to your desk chair, where a familiar pair of grey sweats and blue hoodie were draped. "Those are yours, if you wanna change. I stole them from your backpack in gym yesterday. I'm not sorry, either. Also, I washed them for you."
He dropped his head and laughed, his face wrinkling up and his tongue poking out between his teeth. He grabbed the clothes.
"I'll let you change," you said, shutting the door and heading down the hall.
He heard your footsteps as you scurried down the hallway and through the living room. He smacked his hand against his chest, hitting the spider at the center of his suit. It slid to the ground. He heard a cabinet door open, close, then open again and the sound of a microwave starting. He shrugged on the sweatshirt and pants, tossing his suit on your desk chair.
Since he still had time to spare, he looked at your movie shelf. He smiled, noticing how most of the DVDs were Disney films. He ran his fingers across the spines, chuckling at your impressive collection of princess movies.
He decided on Aladdin because he knew that, with the good mood you were in, you were going to want to sing and he knew a lot of the songs from Aladdin (thanks to you).
As he pulled the movie out of it's spot he heard a crashing sound of glass down the hall. He whipped around, movie slipping from his fingers as his mind darted around possibilities.
Your parents were gone; your dad worked nights and your mom was staying with a friend of hers outside of the city. It was just you and Peter.
His spidey senses buzzed. Was it?
He ran out of the room, his bare feet hitting the ground rather loudly as he rushed down the hall and turned into the kitchen. He stopped just at the hard floor, where a few dozen shards of blue glass scattered. A broken bowl.
He looked up from the mess and saw you, eyes frozen and terrified and locked on one of the five men in your house. One of them, he realized, had a gun. Pointed at you.
He took a step forward, not caring about the glass, only knowing that he needed to get to you, to protect you.
The man snatched your arm, gripping you so tightly above the elbow that you yelped painfully. Peter stopped for half a second, watching as the man twisted your arm as if to spite him, forcing you to his chest. The gun rested just at your neck.
Peter's mind flashed red. "Get your hands off her-" Another step forward, pain in the heel of his foot.
"Not so fast, Spider-Boy."
The voice. He froze.
Norman Osborn stepped away from the fireplace in the living room where he was observing the rows of family photos. He smiled almost politely as he walked to the center of the kitchen, looking from you to Peter. The men with him followed suit, all holding guns.
"Now," he said. "Tell me, Peter, did you really think you could hide who you were from me?" He smiled. "How easy it was to follow Spider-Man and see him crawl into the window of a teenage girl. You even took your mask off for her, not bothering to close the curtains or check to see if you were being followed. Love makes you stupid, Mr. Parker, don't you agree?"
Peter didn't know what to do. His spidey senses were giving him a headache. He couldn't focus on one thing; his attention was on you, Norman, and the guns all at once. He needed his suit, but it was all the way back in your room. He needed to protect you.
How had he failed? How was he stupid enough to bring them right to you? How hadn't he known that they were on to him?
"Please," he said to the man with the gun pointed at you, hating that he had to resort to begging already. "You and I can solve this on our own, Mr. Osborn."
"Oh, and we will, Mr. Parker. We will be solving our little problem very soon. But you and your girlfriend will have to come with us." He nodded, frowning like it brought him great pain to do so.
"She's not coming," Peter said.
"She is," Norman insisted. He raised a hand.
At the movement, the man with the gun on you grabbed you by the arm and dragged you away from where you stood. Peter stepped forward, crunching glass beneath him, hand out to shoot a web.
Norman held up two hands to stop him. "Mr. Parker! There are five guns in this room and two web shooters on your wrists. Each of the guns are pointed at your girlfriend. Do you really think one of them won't go off if you try something?"
Peter dropped his hands. "Please," he half whispered. He looked pitiful, he knew it. "Don't hurt her, okay? She... she doesn't need to be a part of this. Just you and me, Mr. Osborn."
"I'm afraid, Peter... you have made her a part of this." He nodded solemnly. He looked at the gunman. "Take her outside and put her in the car. Peter and I will be arriving separately."
"No," Peter said. He watched as the men surrounded you, grabbing your arms, dragging you away from the kitchen. He heard you cry out his name. "No! Stop!" He sucked in a shaky breath. "Please don't hurt her!"
"Peter," Norman said sternly, patiently. "We are simply taking precautions. So long as you and her both tell us what we need to hear, no one will be hurt."
But she doesn't know anything.
"Now let's go, boy. We need to find out everything you know."
...
After a short and mostly quiet ride to Osborn's workplace, Peter was a mess. He had no idea where you were, just that you were separated from him and in the hands of five armed men that were capable of anything.
Norman hadn't even bothered to take away Peter's web shooters. It was like he knew Peter wouldn't dare use them against him because if he did, he would never hear from you again.
Of course he knew that.
Norman brought Peter inside. He lead him through the halls of his beloved company, giving him history about it that he didn't care about. Peter stayed quiet, hoping that if he worked well with him you would be released safely.
He brought him into a dark room. Peter expected a dozen things to be in there; a dozen things to kill him. But the dark room was empty aside from the two chairs in the center.
"Have a seat, Peter," Norman said. He shut the door.
Peter hesitated.
"Sit."
Hurriedly, Peter sat. He was still barefoot and could feel the cuts from the glass. He sat up straight, trying to look strong even though he'd never felt sicker to his stomach.
"Where is she?" he asked softly.
"Peter, I want to ask how long you've known about me. About my work."
Peter looked at the floor. "Please, just let her go and I'll do whatever you want. I-I'll stop being Spider-Man-"
Norman continued. "What were you planning on doing to stop me? One juvenile superhero against the richest man in Queens... some web shooters against the dozens of bombs and guns and massive destructive weapons I have at the ready?"
Peter hated that he was on the verge of tears. "Please," he breathed, his throat thick. "I'll do anything."
Norman huffed. "You're not giving me the kind of information I want, Peter. That is... disappointing." He sighed. "No matter. We will see if your girlfriend knows anything. I heard-" He tapped on a device in his ear. "That she hasn't been very talkative, either." He smiled sinisterly.
Peter stiffened, fingers hooking under the seat of his chair. A mumble of confusion and painful noises slipped out of his throat before he heard the screeching of metal and saw the wall in front of him lift, revealing three panels of glass.
Behind them, you sat, strapped to a chair.
"___," he choked out. He got up and stumbled to the glass, his hands hitting the surface.
Although he could see you, you couldn't seem to see him. Your eyes were wandering around fearfully, your shoulders slumped as if you were bracing yourself to be hit.
Had they hit you?
"___!" He smacked his hand against the glass.
I'm here! I'm here! Just look, just listen, I am right here! Right in front of you!
"She won't be able to hear or see you," Norman said. "But she can be heard. Let's see what she has to say." He touched the earpiece again. "Come on in, boys, and start the interrogation."
Peter's heart sank. "Interrogation?" he whispered.
Norman placed a finger over his wrinkled, smiling lips. Peter looked back at the glass, hand pressed against it still, eyes glossing over with tears. He swallowed down some fear and watched three men step in, two with guns, one with his hands bare and empty.
"___ ____," the empty handed one said. "We know more than you think we do. In fact, we know the hotel your mother is staying at. We know the address of your father's workplace. We have several guards there... keeping an eye on them just in case."
"Where's Peter?" you asked.
Peter stepped closer to the window. "I'm right here," he whispered.
"Mr. Parker is being held in a separate location," he said. He knelt down in front of you. "If you work with us, he gets out of this without a scratch on him."
"What do you want from me?" you asked.
"We just want to know what you know," he said.
You shook your head. "I don't know anything-"
The man stood up and slapped you across the face, the force of it snapping your head to the left.
Peter was seeing red. "No!" he screamed.
The man was hovering over you now. "What do you know?"
"Nothing!" you said, not looking at him. "Peter never told me anything about this!"
It was true, but they didn't believe you. He hit you again, this time with his fist curled. Your head smacked back against the chair.
"No!" he shouted, his palms hitting the glass. "No! Stop!"
He couldn't hear the man over his screaming, but when you didn't answer his question, you got hit again.
"Get your hands off of her!"
Another hit. One to your jaw, one to your chest, one to your stomach. They were beating you almost for the fun of it now. You cried out so loud, so pained, that Peter choked out a sound of agony. He smacked the glass again and again, hoping to break through.
He would stop them. He would.
"She doesn't know anything! You let her go right now! Stop! ___, ___!"
The pain of helplessly seeing you get tortured for things you didn't know was the worst pain Peter had ever experienced. Never did he think something like this would happen, where he was forced to helplessly watch.
He was sobbing now, pleading, begging, hitting the glass.
And Norman was smirking, enjoying, and laughing.
Peter turned from the glass, anger overcoming any emotion. He stomped forward and grabbed Norman by the front of the shirt.
"You tell them to let her go right now!"
"Let me go, Peter Parker, or I'll make them put a bullet in her head!" he threatened.
Peter believed that. He dropped him.
Norman flopped back into his chair.
Peter wiped the back of his hand across his nose, tears still flowing. "Y-You make them let her go," he whimpered. "You wanted me to tell you everything I know and I will. I'll tell you all of it!"
If Peter was the best way to get the information he wanted, why would he order you to be tortured in front of him for things you clearly didn't know?
Oh.
"You didn't have to hurt her," Peter sobbed. "I would have told you everything-"
"No, you wouldn't have," Norman said. "You would have lied your way out of this. Now you have to tell me, because if you don't, this will continue until she is dead on the ground." He paused. "You make your choice, Peter Parker."
...
You slumped forward, your ribs aching even though you hadn't been hit in several minutes. You wanted to cry and scream for help, but even though you were alone, no doubt they were watching. You didn't want to seem weak. Peter wouldn't be weak if it were him.
Peter. Your strong, loving, heroic boyfriend that had messed with the wrong people. The mess he had gotten you in was no way as bad as the mess he was in.
Oh gosh, you prayed he wasn't being hurt. You couldn't give any information up - simply because you didn't have any. Peter never told you anything too serious. He believed that would keep you safe.
Funny how that worked out.
The door opened. You couldn't help it, you cowered from the light that leaked in. At the movement in the doorway, the light above you flickered on. You closed your eyes and started to shake, every bit of your torso and face aching.
"Please," you said without realizing it. "I don't know anything. I swear."
Hands on your face. On your arms. On your shoulders. A panicked breath and a sob so familiar and so heartbreaking at you lifted your head.
"Peter," you whimpered.
He was in front of you, untying your wrists. His face was red and his eyes were puffy but thankfully he was marked in terms of bruised and cuts.
You felt your left arm go free and then your right, and he untied your legs. You were already slipping off the chair. When your leg was free, you fell forward, limp like a ragdoll.
He caught you and brought you to his chest, slowly lowering you to the ground. He flipped you so that the backs of your legs hit the ground and you were half supported by his arm that snaked around below your shoulders and held you close.
He was still crying. "___, babe, please talk to me."
You felt a little dazed. "You're not hurt," you said. "I thought you would be. I'm so glad you're okay."
He dropped his head down to your face, getting your cheeks damp as he kissed you there. "I am so sorry. So sorry."
You whimpered again. "It hurts so much, Peter. My body hurts."
"I know," he said, sniffing. "But I'll make it better. I'll fix this. I swear." A pause. A new voice in the doorway. Peter held you closer protectively until the voice went away. "I'm taking you home now, ___."
He started to lift you up, his arms going under your back and under your knees. You groaned as your torso shifted. He cursed and mumbled apologies, moving softer.
You noticed, as he walked you out of the building, chest always shaking with tears, that he was limping. You worried for him, but couldn't find your voice to tell him.
The last thing you remembered before slipping under was his panicked voice asking you to stay awake for him. You felt your lips open and, without moving, breathe out his name.